Kolokol'naya
by Servant of Anubis
Summary: The Golden Horde is on the horizon, and a desperate nation-child prays for the deliverance of his people.


Inspired by a climb to the top of a church belltower in Yelabuga, Russia.

-o-

Russia stacked a wooden crate on the stool and climbed up, balancing precariously before the Red Corner. He crossed himself three times, then hesitated before taking the icons, wrapping them carefully in a white-and-red ritual _rushnyk_ towel. The heavy gold and emerald cross bounced painfully against his chest as he ran out of the house.

Outside was all confusion. Men were strapping on arms and armour, saddling their horses, kissing their tearful wives and children. A few were readying carts piled high with their possessions. Women were crying, or trying stubbornly not to, bidding husbands and sons good bye, hurrying their children along the streets to the church. Russia went with them, wrapped icons clutched to his chest, a single boy alone in a sea of skirts.

The church was full of people— were it not for the almost palpable sense of fear, Russia could pretend it was Paskha, everyone was here to celebrate the Resurrection and their own redemption. They were praying for their redemption now, hundreds of candles throwing a flickering glow over the icons, the golden crosses, the murals that covered every inch of the walls and ceiling. Families knelt together as the priest wove his way through the masses to give reassurances, blessings, absolution. Babies cried and failed to be soothed, children huddled around their mothers, and Russia wished his sisters were here. But he was glad they weren't, he hoped they were far, far away, and safe.

He dumped his purse of rubles into the offering box and took as many candles as he could carry. No one stopped him as he slipped out of the main hall and through the door to the bell tower, climbing stair after stair, panting with the effort, icons in one hand, candles in the other. As he climbed, the view widened, until he stood under the huge bells and looked out, and saw fires burning on the horizon. Fear gripped his heart- they were real, and coming, no longer only something the princes spoke about in low, worried tones. Russia bit his lip, and kept climbing.

The highest point in the tower was a small unfinished room with only one circular window half way up on wall. Russia put the icons and candles on the huge wooden beam that bisected the room, crawled under it to the side with the window, and brushed as much dust and pigeon droppings out of the corner as he could. Then he unwrapped the icons, spreading the _rushnyk_ on the floor and setting the icons on it. He leaned forward to kiss the icons, then sat back and wedged a thin candle into a crack in the floor, lighting it. He crossed himself three times, and began to pray.

"Oh most holy and blessed Theotokos, pray for our sins. Yesus Xristos, Redeemer, Lord of All, forgive us our sins. Lord God in Heaven, spare my people from the Mongol Horde, deliver us from evil. Thy will be done, unto ages of ages, amen. Oh most holy and blessed Theotokos-"

On and on he prayed, the wood floor digging into his knees, hand never stilling in the Sign of the Cross. Below the father held mass, the faint strains of singing drifting up to the belfry where the nation-child prayed for his people.

He prayed ceaselessly through the day, never wavering from his focus as outside the city walls knights were slaughtered in droves, unable to mount an effective defense against blindingly fast mounted strikes. He continued to light candle after candle as grief-stricken wails rose up from below when a handful of survivors returned with horrific accounts of battle. He continued to pray in frantic, desperate whispers when the Horde reached the city itself; he plugged his ears against the screaming, eyes locked on the icons, peaceful Theotokos, Xristos touched by sadness. He didn't scramble up to look out the window and see large swathes of the city burning, the smoke obscuring the horror only to occasionally clear and reveal destruction, scores of bodies, survivors herded together and guarded by strange horsemen.

"Blessed Theotokos hear our prayers. Lord have mercy on us. Lord have mercy on my people. Lord have mercy on us-"

He prayed until the dead of night, when silence finally fell over the conquered city. Only then did exhaustion drag him into sleep.

He woke suddenly in the morning, curled up in front of the icons, puddles of wax staining the floor. For a moment it was as if nothing happened. Then Russia heard footsteps on the stairs below, voices talking in a strange tongue. His heart leapt to his throat; he sat up quickly, turning to the icons, whispering quick and terrified as the footsteps steadily grew louder.

"Lord God in Heaven, have mercy on me, forgive me my sins and deliver me from evil, forgive me please, Lord please I'm so scared, keep me in Your Grace, Oh Lord, deliver me, please save me—"

He fell silent when they reached the last ladder leading to his belfry. He backed up by the icons as far as he could; there was no place to hide as he watched the entrance with wide violet eyes, hands clutching the cross around his neck.

A warrior appeared, tall, dressed in shining silk, a long tunic and pants, sabre at his waist, a ruff of fur at the collar, and long black hair. He glanced around as he stood and spotted Russia, surprise flicking across his features for a moment. He called down something and waited, not crossing over the centre beam to Russia's side.

Another warrior appeared- Russia knew instantly he was Important, decked out in silk and gold and a full headdress. He was much younger than the first one, grumbling as he brushed dust and cobwebs off his robes. He looked at Russia for a moment, taking in the sight: a small boy trembling atop a bell tower, icons nearby- before smirking. His comment was incomprehensible, but the mocking tone was not.

A third voice answered as another climbed the tower. He was not as richly dressed as the second man, but more so than the first, young, with long black hair pulled back into a braid, and when Russia saw him his breath caught in his throat. The man stopped as well when he saw Russia, realization flashing through his eyes.

He spoke, and the second man, the likely leader of the trio, gave a shout of surprise, looking between Russia and the other nation. When he spoke again, he sounded disappointed.

Russia glanced at the stairs in the floor, wondering with vain hope if he could reach them.

The other nation spoke. "Subetai."

The first man nodded, and stepped over the beam to Russia's side. The boy froze for a moment as the warrior moved closer, then grabbed the icons and bolted for the stairs- he made it three steps before the man caught him by the arm, icons tumbling to the ground. His grip held fast as Russia desperately tried to twist away.

"No! Let me go, please, please! Let me go-"

A hand at the back of his neck, and the man forced him to his knees, the impact jarring him in silence as the other two men stepped over the beam as well. Russia barely had time to look up at them before he was forced forward on all fours, his cross clattering loudly on the floor. He could see himself shaking, and couldn't quite stop the whimper of fear that escaped when two pairs of leather boots stepped into his field of vision.

One of them, the leader he thought, declared something loudly, triumphantly. The man holding him down pressed his forehead into the floor for a moment, then let him sit up. Russia instantly tried to scoot away, but the man grabbed his arm again, a warning.

A pleased cooing sound and suddenly the leader crouched in front of him. Russia flinched back as the young man reached out, watching him nervously as the other turn the cross over in his hands- then slipped it off over Russia's head before the boy could stop him.

"No! Give that back! Please, that was Kiev's, please-" He strained at the hold as the leader stood, chuckling, inspecting the cross further before offering it to his nation. Said nation gave him a flat look, before glancing at Russia and taking it, wedging it in his belt. Russia's pleas were ignored.

The man, Subetai? held him while leader and nation took turns peering out the small window. Then they turned to go, and Subetai pulled Russia towards the stairs.

"Wait! The icons!" he dug his heels in, pointing desperately to them. The older nation clipped him in the head, hard, and Russia stopped, letting Subedai nudge him down the steep stairs. Once they reached the bottom he tried to run again, sprinting for the doors in the precious few moments the stairs gave him. He made into the steps before staggering, eyes widening in horror at the blood stains, the bodies- Subetai reached him just as he lurched to the ground and retched, empty stomach heaving.

The older nation passed him with hardly a glance, going over to one of the many carts near the church, all piled high with anything precious: jewellery, furs, plates, _crosses_- Subetai led him over as well, and when they reach him the nation turned and clamped an iron collar around Russia's neck.

His breath hitched again, hands going to the collar as Subetai let him go. It was loose, too big for a child, but he couldn't slip out of it. He tugged at it once in disbelief, staring at the chain connecting him to the cart. He was- he was part of the other nation's loot. Spoils of war. Captured as surely as the city was. Stunned by this revelation, he watched in numb silence as warriors desecrated the church, hauling out crosses, candlesticks, incense burners, parts of the Iconoclast, the alter gates. The only words he managed to bring to his lips were said in equal numbness:

"Lord, have mercy on me."

-o-

The "leader" is Batu-khan, general of the Golden Horde who led the conquest of Rus'. Subetai was a skilled Tuvan warrior who acted as Batu's second in command.

Theotokos is the Virgin Mary, Xristos is Christ. At the time of the Mongol invasion, many Russians believed it was a punishment from God.

_Kolokol'naya_ is Russian for bell tower.


End file.
